


Endangered Drabbles

by Mortior



Series: Endangeredverse [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Android!AR - Freeform, Asexual Character, Body Modification, Bondage, Dom/sub, M/M, Needles, Pain, Piercings, Post-Apocalypse, Semi-Forced Medication, Sounding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21865087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mortior/pseuds/Mortior
Summary: A set of companion ficlets that take place between the end of Endangered and the start of the upcoming sequel.
Relationships: AR/Dirk Strider, Auto-Responder | Lil Hal/Dirk Strider
Series: Endangeredverse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1575247
Comments: 2
Kudos: 123





	1. Getting Pierced in Post-Apocalyptic Houston

**Author's Note:**

> I've been meaning to post these somewhere other than Tumblr.hell while moving my content over to Pillowfort. Plus they'll be easier to find this way for folks who aren't into blogging websites. \o/

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dirk has a low pain tolerance and forgets that AR is a sadist. This takes place before he gets the computer collar.

Almost four weeks have passed since you woke up in Houston after defeating the android empress.

Things are going well so far. Despite the change in location, Houston’s enormous central tower isn’t all that different from Beaumont. The people you’ve known your whole life still greet you when you pass them in the hallways, and you still share a living space with your friends. Bro is still consumed with work despite the war being over, and he keeps Calliope busy with his back-to-back diplomatic trips and meetings. You’re still adjusting to the ridiculously advanced technology and complete lack of responsibilities that were once necessary for survival. It’s a good change, no matter what some people on the newly-restored internet have to say about it.

Your friends keep you anchored in spite of the upheaval, and you spend a lot of time with them in the common room of your shared living space. They treated you like a recovering hospital patient up until recently, which was fair given what had happened, but your body feels fine despite the several months strapped to a high-tech medical bed. The memory of impalement is still fresh, so you’re careful not to push yourself, but it’s been almost a month, and you’re starting to get a little bored.

There’s a handful of options available in that regard. Your friends are always up to something - Roxy, with her growing fascination with genetics; Jane, who’s busy helping her dad open a locally-sourced community kitchen; and Jake, who seems intent on catching up with decades of archived movies and television shows. You’re still sort of drifting and trying to make sense of everything, a process that your friends already went through when they arrived (while you were still in a medically-induced coma), and they’ve reassured you that it just takes time, and soon you’ll find your footing and decide what to do with all this newfound freedom.

Last, but absolutely not least, is your boyfriend and newly-crowned emperor of the world. He’s more than happy to provide you with a distraction when you need it, and he spends every night with you, answering your questions and soothing your anxieties and proving to you over and over again that your feelings aren’t one-sided anymore. When he’s not with you, he’s usually hooked into the tower’s control room or out traveling with Bro as they both work to fix a decade and a half of apocalyptic damage. You didn’t think it was possible to love him more than you already did. It’s new and intense and a little scary, but at least those feelings aren’t completely unfamiliar, and life with him is so much better than you ever imagined.

Today, your Bro is off somewhere with Calliope in an all-day meeting, AR is in the control room working on something important enough to involve him directly, and you’re resigned out of boredom to watching movies with Jake. He’s currently working his way through a collection of terrible films that seem like they were intentionally made to be bad, with the only common factor being some kind of poorly-animated monster that kills people. He’s sitting cross-legged on his bed and you’re in his desk chair, trying to decide if it’s worth it to argue for watching something else, when there’s a knock on the door and Roxy arrives to deliver you from bad science fiction with a trip outside to the marketplace.

Out of all your friends, Roxy visits the marketplace the most often. She won’t hesitate to go on her own if Jane is too busy and Jake isn’t interested, and she knows you’re uneasy around crowds, but today you were desperate for something to do besides sit in Jake’s room and marvel (with just a hint of jealousy) at how easily entertained he is. He says farewell to both of you, oblivious to Roxy’s snorting laugh at how quickly you said yes, and she allows you a quick detour to your room to grab a coat, before you follow her to the elevator and outside into the city. It’s still early afternoon and the weather is brisk, but sunny and clear. 

You’ve been to the ground level a few times in the last several weeks, and it’s usually with one or more of your friends leading the way to run some errand or find some unique item for trade. The human population continues to expand, and every time you leave the Tower, it seems like there’s less room to walk in the streets as the crowds grow and more ground-level buildings are constructed. Fortunately, no one apart from the occasional fellow Beaumont refugee knows who you are, and people tend to leave you alone in favor of the more outgoing members of your group.

You don’t mind the occasional trip outside, though. The marketplace in Houston is a fascinating blend of civilizations. The twisting android-built spires give the city a strange aesthetic (along with the central tower that dwarfs them all, colossal and foreboding, with the bright red airship perched near the top like an inanimate, monstrous bird), but it was only unsettling the first time you walked beneath them and saw how truly small and fragile the human-constructed buildings are in comparison. Now it just strikes you as impressive, and it’s reassuring to know that everyone living beneath them is protected. “Things are volatile out there,” Bro told you a few weeks ago. “An android city is the only place where safety is a guarantee.” You’ve also decided it’s a testament to the successful integration of humans and androids, who are still recovering in their own way. You spot the occasional black metal figure wandering on its own or mingling with small groups of humans. Most of them can’t talk yet, and even text-based conversations via chat device can be difficult if they have a severe enough language glitch (or “typing quirk,” to put it politely), but seeing androids and humans coexisting peacefully is a literal dream come true. 

The spires stand guard like silent, towering sentinels while you follow Roxy through the marketplace. The crowds today are daunting, and even though the relics and antiques available for trade are sometimes worth the trip, you still prefer the quiet, sterile halls of the central tower and the familiarity of a handful of people to the anonymous faces outside. Still, Roxy was excited to drag you out for the day, and you went with her rightfully expecting the unexpected.

A tattoo and piercing shop wasn’t even close to what you were expecting.

“This is so frickin’ cool!” Roxy exclaims without even looking in your direction, her attention drawn to the jewelry on display in the middle of the room. The shop is of typical human construction - a patchwork of wood and reclaimed metal, along with an assortment of furniture that looks either newly-built or like it barely survived an explosion. You noticed when Roxy led you inside that the shop was built up against the base of an android spire, and sure enough, the back wall is a solid expanse of metal. 

The woman who owns the shop is a walking advertisement for the services she offers, with the most tattoos and piercings you’ve ever seen on another human being. The shop itself is filled with tables and cases on the walls displaying various types of jewelry, and you aren’t exactly sure where or how some of it is supposed to go on a person’s body. To your surprise, there’s also an android sitting in a chair at one of the tables, and you’re even more surprised to see that his horns and face are decorated with blue metal rings and studs that match his circuit color. He watches you and Roxy with an obvious but friendly curiosity, and some of the tools hanging on the walls around him don’t look like they’re meant for use on human beings. You’re not sure yet if he’s a Sagittarius or a Scorpio (both are concerning for different reasons), but Roxy is trying to get your attention.

“Whaddaya think?” she asks, holding up a thick silver ring between two fingers. “I mean it’s kinda big, but apparently that’s good for the swelling?” The woman behind the main counter nods, and you lean on her shoulder to take a closer look at the jewelry. 

“I could see you wearing this,” you tell her, trying to be honest despite all of this being completely outside your realm of experience. 

“Hell yeah. And what about maybe two? Like on each side?” She holds it up to her ear and makes a face like she’s posing for a photograph, then sticks out her tongue. You laugh quietly while the shop owner begins gathering things together on a small table next to a large padded chair.

“Won’t that hurt more?” you ask.

“Yeah, but that’s the price we gotta pay for traditional fashion apparently. Plus I’ve heard it’s not really all that bad. I mean, it’s supposed to be quick, you know?” She shrugs and goes to talk to the woman, who nods and selects a few matching silver rings from a drawer full of jewelry in little plastic bags. You’re left to wander the store for a few minutes while everything is set up, and you wave to the shop’s android who smiles back at you with a row of very pointy, shark-like teeth. You’re trying not to be obvious about exploring in the opposite direction when Roxy waves you over to where she’s sitting on the edge of the big padded chair.

“Hey, thanks for coming with me hun, but you don’t gotta stick around for this part. We can meet up later if you’d rather do some shopping or get something to eat or whatevs.” Roxy pats your arm while the shop owner stands nearby and starts pulling on a pair of rubber gloves, and you seriously consider it, then shrug. You’re not really into to the prospect of exploring the marketplace by yourself.

“I don’t have anything else planned besides this,” you tell her, and Roxy’s lips spread into a mischievous smile.

“Reeeally?” She taps her chin with one finger. “Nothing else planned, huh?” She hums. “Do you . . . maybe wanna try getting something done too? We’re already here and I totally brought enough to pay for both of us if you get something simple.”

“Wh- . . . wait, are you serious?” you stammer, and Roxy holds up her hands and forms a rectangle, closing one eye and looking at you through the frame of her fingers with the other.

“Yeaaah I bet you’d look _damn_ fine with something on your face. Ooh, maybe snakebites?” She nods to herself and lowers her hands. “Yep, definitely something on your lower lip. I vote snakebites.”

“I dunno, Rox. This looks . . .” you trail off, eyeing the assortment of clamps and needles on the table as the shopkeeper finishes arranging her workspace, “. . . unpleasant.”

“Yeah but it’ll be worth it,” she whispers loudly, then motions for you to move out of the way as the owner approaches with a little square of gauze soaked in what smells like a strong antiseptic. You relocate to the metal wall at the back of the shop and try not to wince as you see the woman clamp Roxy’s earlobe, then push one of the big hollow needles through it. Roxy somehow manages to hold still and doesn’t make any noise beyond a rough exhale of pain as the woman carefully replaces the needle with one of the silver rings. You decide against watching the rest, and turn your attention instead to the handheld network-capable device in your pocket. It’s part of a series that were android-made for human use. Bro calls them “robophones” and says they basically function the same way smartphones did before civilization collapsed.

You wake the device from sleep mode and use the touchscreen to bring up the chat client. The handful of usernames off to the side (your friends, along with Bro and some other members of the Beaumont compound), are grouped by who’s online and who’s not, while AR’s name doesn’t have an online or offline designation because he’s inherently connected to the network. You select it and type out a message, and even now that simple act still gives you butterflies.

TT: Hey.   
TT: Are you busy?  
AR: Not in particular.  
AR: I noticed you left the tower with Roxy. Is everything all right?  
TT: Yeah, we’re fine. Roxy just wanted to look for some antique computer parts and apparently get her ears pierced?  
TT: She brought me along for moral support. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.   
TT: It looks like torture.  
AR: It could perhaps qualify as torture depending on what is being punctured and how, but body modification is one of the oldest surviving human traditions.   
AR: Pain levels induced by such procedures tend to vary based on the body part involved and the size and sharpness of the item inserted through the skin, and some procedures are more permanent than others.  
AR: According to humanity’s fallible historical records, it was often used for aesthetic, religious, and even sexual purposes in different cultures across the world at different times.  
AR: I consider it to be one of the more interesting human traditions, although it did fall out of mainstream practice during the fifteen-year extermination period.  


You look up and watch as Roxy squeezes her eyes shut and endures the placement of a second hole in her earlobe, but the first one doesn’t even look like it’s bleeding. You think hard about what she said a few minutes ago.

TT: You think it’s interesting?  
AR: As interesting as any human cultural practice could possibly be, yes.  
TT: That’s good to know.  


You take a deep breath.

TT: Roxy thinks I should get something done too while we’re here.  
TT: I was wondering what you thought about that.  


AR takes an uncharacteristic amount of time to reply - a total of ten seconds, when his messages are usually rapid-fire compared to your typed responses. Roxy is getting the second ring placed, and the blue android looks like it’s busy cleaning some of the equipment on the nearby tables while you lean against the wall and try to stay out of the way.

AR: You are interested in permanent bodily adornment with jewelry?  
TT: I’m thinking about it, but I wanted to make sure you were okay with it first.  
AR: You may do as you please, Dirk.  
AR: Whatever makes you happy is acceptable.  
TT: Yeah, but this is permanent.  
TT: Sort of.  
TT: I guess I could always take it out if I don’t like it.  
TT: I should probably ask Bro too, but he’s still in his meeting.  
AR: Will you be taking Roxy’s advice?  
TT: Maybe.  
TT: Yes?   
AR: In that case, I have a requirement.  


You lift your eyebrows despite knowing that he can’t see you (although you also know from experience that other androids can share their auditory and optical feeds with him when he tells them to). You glance at the blue android, but it’s facing away from you at the moment, and it looks like the shop’s owner is getting ready to pierce Roxy’s other ear. She’s got two silver rings so far, and the first ear is already a little red and swollen, but it looks surprisingly good on her. You decide on the spot to take her advice and try it for yourself. It does look painful, but it’ll help to have her with you for moral support.

TT: Alright.   
TT: What’s the catch?  
AR: You will return to the central tower before undergoing this procedure.  


The stipulation catches you off-guard, and you’re lucky Roxy isn’t paying attention, because you can feel your face heating up. It’s embarrassing how things that aren’t even close to being flirtatious or sexual still have that effect on you when he gets like this. Your hands don’t feel steady anymore as you type out a response, a little disappointed, but also confused.

TT: You want me to come home first?  
TT: I guess I can get it done tomorrow, but Roxy and I already here. Why can’t I do it now?  
AR: I will not allow a random human from the ground-level settlements to perform this procedure on you, especially when it is permanent and will inflict pain.  
TT: Roxy said it won’t be that bad.  
AR: That is irrelevant.  
AR: You will return to the tower, and when you are ready, I will meet you in the infirmary.  


The thought of the infirmary’s resident android doing to you what you just watched Roxy endure is a terrifying prospect. F3F-3R1 is perfectly nice and friendly, but her medusa-like appendages, razor sharp teeth, and overboard enthusiasm for performing medical procedures on humans (especially on you) are the stuff of nightmares. You’re about to remind AR that you’ve literally had nightmares about her, when his follow-up message beats you to it and puts your fears to rest.

AR: I will be performing the procedure on you myself.  
TT: Okay. That’s a relief.   
TT: I don’t think I could do it with F3F.  
AR: You needn’t worry. The infirmary’s technology is vastly superior to whatever primitive human method you were considering.  
TT: Why didn’t you offer to help Roxy?  
AR: I did not know she was interested, and she did not ask.  
AR: But I will extend an offer to her in the future, if she chooses to pursue additional bodily adornment.  


Roxy is admiring her new double-pierced earlobes in a handheld mirror while the shop owner cleans up the supplies. She’s already smiling as you approach.

“Check it out!” she grins, turning her head to show off the double silver rings.

“Nice,” you say, genuinely admiring the way it frames her face. “Those look really good on you.”

“See? Told you. It was totally worth it. Gonna rock these babies all over town.” She holds the mirror up and turns her head a few more times before handing it back to the shop’s owner. “It does kinda hurt like a bitch when you’re getting it done though, not gonna lie, it ain’t super pleasant.” Roxy suddenly claps her hands together. “So! You wanna get something too? Or maybe think about it a bit more first, or . . . ?” she trails off expectantly, and you’re grateful that it’s her doing this with you, because out of all your friends, she’s the most understanding and accepting of AR’s personality traits. Roxy lifts an eyebrow at your nervous laugh.

“About that,” you start. “I thought, what the hell, why not? We’re already here.” You shrug. “But I messaged AR and he said I have to come home first.”

“Oh shit, I didn’t even think about that.” Roxy folds her arms and gives you a tilted look. “He probably wants to do it himself, huh.”

“Yeah,” you admit, and Roxy’s expression turns sympathetic and fond.

“Aww, well I bet the infirmary’s got some bomb-ass painkillers. Do you wanna pick out some jewelry while we’re here?”

You think about it, then type out a quick message to AR and get the usual instantaneous reply.

“He says he’ll have stuff for me to choose from if we wait an hour before heading back.”

“Ooh, I can’t wait to see the selection.” She rubs her hands together and slides out of the chair onto her feet. “Let’s do some shopping and grab a snack on the way home, and then I’ve got a date with a genetics textbook. Still workin’ my way up to the advanced stuff, but anything’s easy if ya start with the basics.” Roxy goes to the main table and completes her part of the trade with the owner, handing over a small bag of scavenged jewelry from your days in Beaumont and telling her to “keep the change,” which seems to be a running joke in Houston. 

You exit the shop and spend the next hour browsing for hidden treasures in what Roxy lovingly refers to as the “I.T. junkyard section” of the marketplace. She’s got her favorite cat-eared backpack, and you assist her by digging through containers full of random electronics and computer parts for anything that looks functional. She makes a few trades while you end up pulled into a conversation with one of the shopkeepers about the preservation of historical operating systems, and when you’re both finished, she leads you to the prepared food section of the marketplace. It’s separate from the raw food / produce section, which is in turn separate from the preserved / packaged section, and Roxy manages to trade a handful of mechanical pens and pencils for a few pieces of fresh caramel. You didn’t bring anything to trade with, but she shares them with you on the walk back to the central tower. Human-made cuisine is a luxury now with food and water synthesizers available for everyone, and you remember Bro complaining about the concept of “nutrient paste” and AR’s calm rebuttal that it also comes in solid and liquid form (you don’t mind the taste. It’s neutral, if a little earthy).

The crowds thin out as you approach the base of the tower, and going inside is an immediate relief from the constant noise. You let AR know that you’re back and on your way to the infirmary with Roxy, and he says he’ll meet you there. You help Roxy take a picture of her new earrings in the elevator, and she rewards you with the last piece of caramel as you reach the topmost human-habitable floor.

AR’s control room is here too, along with your communal living quarters, but you take the opposite route and head for the hallway with the infirmary’s open door. Roxy outpaces you and goes in first, and she’s already admiring a small metal tray placed on the end of the (still terrifying) medical bed when you catch up to her. AR is already there too, waiting for you. His red circuits reflect in wavy, broken lines across the unidentifiable medical tech around him.

“Hello, Dirk.” AR’s voice is amused as you walk in, apparently still entertained from whatever greeting Roxy led with when she arrived. You’re glad it’s just you and Roxy, because you don’t have to fight the urge to go to him and lean into his metal chest and lay your head on his shoulder. AR’s smaller cables are retracted, but his four large, claw-tipped limbs slowly coil and press around your body, and you wouldn’t call this a hug so much as a mutual desire to never be apart again. You close your eyes and rest against him while Roxy, to whom you’re already in debt for so many wonderful reasons, politely doesn’t comment on the semi-public display of affection.

“Where did you even get these?” Roxy sounds fascinated and impressed by whatever she’s looking at. AR’s voice is close enough to make you shiver when he speaks.

“Some of them I had manufactured on short notice. Others are repurposed prosthetic components. Does the variety and number of options appear suitable?”

“In my opinion, yeah, but that’s up to him,” Roxy says, her voice getting quieter. There’s a long pause, and then you feel AR’s fingers carefully thread into your hair and rub the back of your neck. Pulling away from him is one of the worst feelings in the world, but you manage. Roxy is watching with an affectionate smile that you try to mirror despite the mild embarrassment, and you join her at the other end of the medical bed to look at the tray.

There’s about a dozen small, stud-like pairs of assorted black metal and other materials you can’t quite identify, but which are also probably some kind of metal. A few of them have a strange multicolor shimmer, and the designs range from standard jewelry to a few that are really intricate and beautiful. It’s impossible to pick just one or two of them, and you lose track of Roxy while thinking about it, but she taps on your shoulder after a few minutes. 

“Hey hun, I’m gonna head back now, okay? Lemmie have your coat and I’ll throw it in your room.”

“You’re not staying?” you ask, as she starts gently pulling off your coat from behind.

“Nope! I’m late for that date we talked about, and trust me, you’ll be fine.” She doesn’t even try to hide a wink in AR’s direction. You glance at him, and he seems genuinely confused rather than conspire-with-Roxy-to-feign-ignorance confused, so you let Roxy have your coat and promise to meet up with her later to help with the new computer she’s putting together (after AR offers to have one assembled for her and she says “thanks darlin’ but that’s cheating”).

Roxy closes the door behind her when she leaves the infirmary, and the glass-like panel automatically turns opaque. You hop up on the edge of the medical bed while AR does something with the alien-looking tools hanging above and off to the side, like he’s trying to select the right one for the job, and your stomach twists into a knot as he grabs one that ends with the unmistakable, gleaming point of a very sharp needle.

“Have you decided where on your body you want this adornment to be placed?” he asks, then gives you a thoughtful, searching look before you can reply. “Are you having second thoughts, Dirk? You are not obligated to go through with this if you don’t want to.”

You have to take a few deep breaths before the words come out. “No, I . . . I’m okay. Just a little nervous.”

“Is it the pain you’re worried about?” he asks perceptively, and you nod. “Then I will give you an analgesic that will block the pain.” You think about that, and frown.

“I don’t want . . . I mean, I know it hurts, but isn’t it supposed to?” you ask, and he gives you a strange look.

“It does not have to.”

“I know, but . . . ” you sigh. “I want to do it the way everyone else does it. Like the way Roxy did it. If that’s okay?” You’re hoping he understands, even if you’re having trouble justifying it, but to your relief, he nods once.

“It is up to you, but if you change your mind,” he says pointedly, “do not hesitate to tell me.” 

“Okay,” you breathe, trying not to look as nervous this time when he takes the needle-tipped device and adjusts it until the point is about two inches long, then he lets it hang by its cable in the air.

“Now,” he begins, his red, glowing eyes traveling over you slowly, appraisingly, “where do you want this puncture in your skin?”

You resist the urge to make him rephrase that, and instead think about the conversation back in the shop. “Roxy says I should get something on my lip. I think she called it a snake bite?”

AR hums thoughtfully. “Yes. Bilateral and symmetrical placement beneath the lower lip.” He takes your chin with one hand and presses his thumb against both spots to give you an idea of it, but you’re immediately distracted, and the tingling feeling of his touch lingers even after he lets go. 

“Yeah, something like that,” you confirm, trying not to sound out of breath. He smiles knowingly, and your face heats up.

“Have you selected the adornments?” He gestures at the tray next to you, and you decide to go with your instincts. Your voice is small, the request tentative and shy.

“I . . . I want you to choose.” 

There’s something addictive about moments like this, when you give up control and it feels like you’re free-falling. The embarrassment is always there, along with the quiet fear that you’re doing something wrong (which you still can’t shake, even after Bro came around to supporting your relationship), but the way AR looks at you - a little surprised at first, then pleased, in a way that seems dark and promising . . . it makes your heart race.

He says nothing, and instead goes to examine the tray and the options he gathered himself. You don’t have to wait long before he selects one of the black metal pieces and holds it up for you to see. It’s a simple ring, similar to what Roxy got for her ears, but small and thin.

“Looks good,” you manage to say, barely above a whisper. One of his smaller cables snakes out from behind his back and plucks the ring from his hand, then dips down into the tray and retrieves the matching piece. He holds both rings in its stick-thin graspers, keeping them ready and within reach as he moves to stand in front of you and reaches for the needle-tipped device.

You force yourself to take deep, even breaths. His legs brush against your knees, and you reflexively spread them to give him more room. Your heart is pounding, and it’s tempting to ball your hands into tense fists, but you resist. Then he takes your chin in his other hand and leans in to inspect the spot where he’ll be piercing you, and it’s like a switch is flipped. Now you’re resisting the urge to wrap your legs around his waist.

“I’m . . . kinda surprised you know how to do this,” you offer, not even pretending you aren’t trying to stall him. AR doesn’t seem bothered, and gently turns your head to one side before tilting your chin up.

“My referring to this earlier as a ‘procedure’ was very generous,” he says, tracing the edge of your lower lip with his thumb. It’s meant to be clinical and appraising, but your eyes almost slide shut at the feeling. The entire mood in the room is changing, and you silently thank Roxy for her foresight in giving you privacy. AR continues, his voice soft and soothing, like you’re a wild animal he’s trying to calm. “It requires only a knowledge of anatomy and the healing process, nerves and vasculature, safe materials, appropriate placement regarding the likelihood of migration, etcetera.”

“Are there a lot of guides about it online?” you ask, already knowing the answer but grasping desperately at something to talk about. The anticipation is unbearable, but then his clawed limbs are shifting, and the first one wraps around your hips and pulls you closer to him at the edge of the medical bed. The second moves past your line of sight, and you can hear its claws spread open before they press and grip, very carefully, around the back of your head. The other two are hovering nearby, one on either side of you. 

“Yes, there are many guides about it online,” he answers with gentle amusement. “I should remind you, given your current level of anxiety, that you have recently been through much worse than this.”

You laugh at that, even if it’s a little weak and unsteady. “Yeah, impalement is probably worse than a needle prick.”

“Well, in the spirit of fairness and semantic precision,” his voice pitches low, and your breathing goes rough, “this will be more than just a needle prick.”

Something important occurs to you as he says that, and the claw cradling the back of your head follows as you lean forward to kiss him. You keep it soft but make the most of it, while the hand on your chin withdraws to rest at the base of your throat, and the needle-tipped tool goes back to hanging in the air by its cord. He’s the one who ends up deepening the kiss once the surprise wears off, and you’re too worked up to resist, the combination of anxiety and arousal weird, but familiar. He waits until you’re practically whimpering with need before pulling away to let you catch your breath. 

“I won’t get to do that again for a while,” you explain, not quite raising your voice above a whisper. He considers you for a long moment while his fingers caress the sides of your neck, gently tracing the path of your jugular veins. 

“Are you certain you don’t want an analgesic?”

“Maybe something traditional if we have it,” you concede, trying to remember the names on the dusty bottles with their faded labels in your old home’s infirmary, “like . . . tylenol? Or one of the other ones?” You think it’s a reasonable compromise, but AR’s voice lowers into a growl.

“I can do better for you than that,” he retorts, his hand returning to hold your chin and keep your eyes on him. You’re weak to it, and he knows it isn’t fair to break your resistance down in moments like this, but you can’t bring yourself to care. He does it because you let him, and you let him because you’re addicted to it, but this is also how you negotiate with him. You push and he pushes back, testing to see how much you truly care about your position and if it’s enough to overrule him.

“I know you can,” you respond, soft and placating, “but I want to try it this way first, the way I would have done it with Roxy back at the shop.”

“You still want it to hurt?” he asks, and for the first time since Beaumont, you detect an undertone that puts your instincts on alert. You’re not sure what it means in this context, but your body decides to cross the wires as usual, and you’re about to give up on pretending this isn’t turning you on. He’s still waiting for an answer, and you hesitate, then whisper “yes,” and the way he looks at you promises that you’re in for more than just a lip piercing now. 

“If I come to suspect you’re regretting that decision,” he says slowly, reaching out to take hold of the needle-tipped device where it hangs in the air, the gesture strikingly attractive, “understand that I will medicate you regardless of your preferences.”

It’s a compromise you’re willing to accept, and as soon as you do, the limb wrapped around your waist tightens, pulling you closer to him and making you gasp at the unexpected movement. The other two clawed limbs, which had been hoving at your sides, drift closer and genty seize each of your wrists, while the one behind your head tightens its grip. That nervous knot in your stomach is back with a vengeance, but it’s tangled with the heat from his touch. Shifting in his coils reveals just how little he’ll allow you to move, and your body responds to that knowledge predictably. 

AR’s free hand cups your chin again (you’d lean into it, but his claws are gripping too tight), and he takes a moment to examine the spot below your mouth framed by his thumb and forefinger. Then he carefully grasps your lower lip between his fingers. Your throat dips in a nervous swallow.

“Do your best to hold still,” he says, and you follow the black needle until it moves below your field of vision and out of sight. The device stops somewhere very close to your chin, and you decide against keeping your eyes open. In Roxy’s own words, you know this is going to “hurt like a bitch” (which you would have known even without her testimony), and the anticipation is bad enough to make you hold your breath. AR’s voice almost makes you jump. “Breathe, Dirk.”

You obey, filling your chest, and the moment you let it out you’re struck with a white-hot splitting pain that makes your body jerk in AR’s grip. The worst of it is over quickly, but it’s like the time he slashed your leg open - the pain so sharp it’s breathtaking. You shiver and blink back tears to see the out-of-focus needle in your lower lip, detached from the device that now hangs nearby from its cord.

“Holy shit that hurt,” you slur, trying not to move your lips. 

“I did warn you,” AR says softly. He lifts one hand, and the cable holding the black rings drops one into his open palm. Then you close your eyes and hold your breath again as he begins working the needle out of your lip. It’s extremely unpleasant - a pulling sensation, then pressure and pain, enough to make your eyes water again. It doesn’t hurt as bad as the initial stick, but it’s not nearly as fast, and you can’t do anything but hold still and endure it, before you hear and feel something click.

“There. How does that feel?” he asks, withdrawing his hands as he steps away and allowing you press your lips together and ponder the strangeness of it. Trying to eat and drink might be interesting after this. It’s a little numb compared to how much it hurt a moment ago, but you can already tell the healing process is going to suck.

“S’gonna take some getting used to,” you mumble, carefully probing the ring with your tongue. AR is busy reattaching the needle to the device, and just like before with Roxy, you’re surprised there wasn’t more blood involved. His limbs haven’t eased up on their grip, and you’re helpless to do anything other than watch.

“Both the needle and the jewelry have been coated with a long-acting antimicrobial, in case you were wondering,” he says without looking at you, his red eyes focused on the device as he adjusts the needle back to its original length. “There will be no need to clean or soak them routinely, although you may still do so if you wish.”

“It’ll still hurt while they heal though, right?” you ask, wondering how long it’ll take for the soreness to go away (possibly a few weeks, from what Roxy said).

“That is up to you,” he says with the device ready in his hand, and your stomach twists again at the sight. “I should also inform you that typically, the adrenaline induced by the first puncture tends to wear off.” He gives you a strange look, similar to the one before that made your skin prickle, and you’re just now starting to put the pieces together. “Meaning that this will hurt even more than you are expecting it to.”

The pain from the first piercing is already a dull throb, and you were well on your way to a hard-on before that. Now you’re breathing faster again as AR returns to the same spot, close enough that you could wrap your legs around his waist. He reaches out to take your chin and you sigh at the feeling, and at the way his claws tighten as your arms reflexively try to move. The way he’s looking at you is so familiar, you can’t believe you didn’t recognize it before.

“You’re enjoying this,” you whisper. It’s not an accusation, because you knew who he was when you decided to be with him. Since moving to Houston, he’s done everything in his power to keep you safe and happy, and it’s easy to forget (for you, at least) that he’s a sadist and only a semi-reformed murderer.

“More than I thought I would,” he answers softly, his expression deeply satisfied. His thumb traces the spot where he’s about to pierce you. “It’s not so different, after all.”

“From what?” you ask.

“From the sounds you make when I’m fucking you,” he almost purrs, and your breath catches. “The way you move involuntarily . . . the way you try not to, and fail. The way you lose yourself.” He leans in close, speaking slowly and pinning you with those glowing eyes. “And I still get what I want most of all - your absolute, undivided attention.”

The rush of arousal is predictable, but even more intense than usual. He’s about to hurt you again, by your own admission, and you’re restrained and worked up and afraid of what he said a moment ago about this next one hurting even more. Your breathing goes ragged with a conflicting mess of emotions as you finally wrap your legs around his waist, giving in to that familiar, almost magnetic pull. 

“That’s it,” he whispers, his fingers grasping your lower lip while the needle moves below your line of sight once again. You’re like a coiled spring, unable to do anything but wait in terrible anticipation, like waiting for a firearm to go off in your face. His claws are gripping your trembling body so hard it hurts. “Slow your breathing, Dirk,” AR instructs, and you honestly try your best. Despite the situation, you do manage to calm down a little as the seconds pass and nothing happens. 

Just when you start to relax, the pain hits like a lightning bolt. Once again unbearable part is over quickly, but this time the residual feeling lingers, and it reminds you of when Jake’s uncle gave you a concussion. AR holds you in his vice-like grip as he releases the device and takes the second and final ring between his fingers. The pain quickly approaches the limit of what you can stand as he begins working the needle out of your lip, and you have to grit your teeth to keep quiet. Instead, you make an honest attempt to pull your wrists free from his claws, which predictably gets you nowhere, but it’s a good distraction for the next ten seconds until you hear and feel something click.

You shiver with the residual pain and blink away tears as he wordlessly reaches for another of the devices hanging nearby. This one is long and narrow with a blunt, tapering tip and multiple cords of different sizes snaking out from the other end, but you don’t get a good look at it because his other hand seizes your chin and forces your head back. The claws behind your head tighten until you’re almost sure they’re drawing blood, and the feeling of cold pressure against your neck is all the warning you have before another sharp burst of pain hits, and this time you can’t stop from crying out a little in shock. 

The feeling that comes next is almost disorienting. The pain fades quickly, starting with the spot on your neck where AR apparently injected you with something, and it spreads over a matter of seconds to the rest of your body like a wave of relief. You practically melt in AR’s grip, the feeling almost euphoric after the stress and anxiety of the last ten minutes. He holds your head back and the device against your neck for a while longer, then releases you along with his clawed limbs. They loosen and slide away, freeing your arms and upper body, but you keep your legs where they are - wrapped around his waist, holding the two of you together. You wait for him to let go of the injector device before reaching for his shoulders and pulling him in close.

Kissing should hurt, but android medical tech is a wonderful thing. The rings make it feel weird, but it’s not bad, just . . . different and a little distracting, but it doesn’t take much to get your libido going again. The pain might be gone, but there’s still a restless shiver under your skin, left over from the weird combination of fear and eroticism that you’ve been addicted to since you met him.

“Thank you,” you breathe, pulling away just enough to speak. “Not sure why I was so against that.”

AR hums thoughtfully as your forehead rests against his. “I found it strange, but humans often are . . . especially a behavioral outlier like you, Dirk.”

“It’s not a bad thing, right?” you ask in a whisper. Something brushes against your waist as his clawed limb returns to curl around you from behind.

“Never,” he hisses back, as he pulls you off the table and holds you against him. You gasp and cling to his neck, but your weight is nothing compared to his mechanical strength, and there’s no actual danger of falling. You can feel him doing something behind you as he leans forward slightly and reaches out with one arm, then he’s turning you around, and your feet touch the ground before he pushes you against the infirmary bed. His weight is solid against your back, and when you lean forward and brace your hands against the bed’s strange (often disturbing) irregular surface of tangled black wires, metal straps, and hollow cables, you both feel and hear the unmistakable vibration and low hum of the device powering on. AR’s voice is right up against your ear, the words ominous. “Why don’t we try something new?” 

Your reply dies in your throat as you watch the bed’s surface where you were sitting a moment ago. The flat expanse of metal components begin to roll and weave with the uncanny synchronization of a finely-tuned machine. One of AR’s limbs wraps around each of your legs, rooting you in place as you’re forced to bend over the bed’s moving surface. 

You gasp his name, grabbing the far end of the bed’s frame and pushing back, but soon your elbows make contact, and dozens of wires and straps begin to flow and coil around your forearms, practically assimilating them into the bed. You’re locked into position now, and you can feel the machinery brushing against the front of your shirt. AR’s hands find the spot just beneath it, sliding against your bare stomach before moving lower to undo the button on your pants.

You’re starting to get an idea of what he’s doing, and it wrings out the last bit of adrenaline in your gut. Struggling is always useless, but you do it anyway while he uncovers your erection and laughs softly into your ear as you strain against him, but his commanding weight gradually pushes your hips into the metal bed. When the feeling hits, the sound you make is loud and startled, and you still have enough presence of mind left to wonder if the room is soundproof. 

The feeling of AR sliding one hand up your shirt barely registers, while his other hand finds the front of your throat and rests there, gripping gently. It’s impossible to see what’s happening between your legs, but it feels tight and chaotic, squeezing and rubbing and twisting in countless directions all at once. A few more seconds of that, and your legs are already trembling in AR’s coils as you fight the urge to outright moan with every breath. Trying to thrust against the mechanical bed doesn’t get you anywhere thanks to his unyielding grip, but your muscles strain anyway, going through the motions of a mindless, instinctual reflex.

“I suggest we take advantage of the infirmary’s versatile equipment while we’re here,” AR murmurs slowly in your ear. “Are you familiar with sounding?”

“With . . . w-what?” you ask breathlessly, right before your body goes rigid beneath him at the sudden invasion of a new feeling. Among the constant tangle surrounding your dick, something is nudging and pushing against the very tip, right at the sensitive slit. You don’t have long to process that thought before whatever it is finally gets the angle right and slides in, and staying quiet is an afterthought. The sound that comes out of your throat is bare and sharp with surprise, like if someone asked you to impersonate a dog. You follow it up with a confused moan as the thing (probably some sort of thin, slippery cable or tube from the feeling) works its way down your shaft. It feels like your dick is being stuffed, and you can't decide whether that’s good or bad, but it's definitely weird and intense. There's no pain involved, and after the initial shock wears off, the feeling blends in with everything else. 

You’re getting close to overstimulation, but as usual, AR manages to find that line and hold you right up against it, the pleasure all at once unbearable and euphoric. Staying quiet is impossible now. You can barely remember to breathe, let alone keep your mouth shut, but the constant anxiety of someone hearing you (not usually a concern in your bedroom or the control room) has you fighting to speak a coherent sentence.

“S-so- . . . some . . . one, ah-h! Ss . . . s-someone will . . . hh-h . . hear . . . AR . . . plea-hease . . hahh . . . p-please . . .” 

“You want me to silence you?” he asks, and you can only manage a choked, keening sound in reply. You’re getting to that final stage where your eyes start to water embarrassingly, self-control is a distant memory, and you’re reduced to a visceral, overwhelming need for him. When his hand moves from your neck to cover your mouth, it takes away your very last outlet for the pleasure flooding your senses. It’s a kink you’re still not confident enough to ask for directly, but the feeling of being trapped and stifled is enough to make your eyes roll back. AR whispers encouraging words into your ear while you shake uncontrollably, pinned between him and the mechanical bed as your dick is worked from the inside out. Your muffled voice is pitched high and desperate, until you forget to breathe when that familiar spring in your gut begins to coil. 

Fortunately, AR doesn’t seem interested in edging you today. The orgasm builds quickly, filling you up and wiping your thoughts out with a sunburst of ecstasy that leaves you blissfully mindless. Your world narrows down to nothing but that feeling, along with AR’s weight against your back and the firm muzzle of his hand over your mouth. The unidentified object in your urethra slips out as you come, and it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. AR keeps you pinned against the bed while you ride it out, although he does release your mouth to let you breathe easier, and you let out a strangled moan at each wave-like aftershock of pleasure.

Your thoughts start to become coherent again as AR brushes the hair out of your eyes, and he waits until you decide to pull your arms free from the now-passive mechanical bed before letting you stand up on unsteady legs. You lean against him out of necessity and a residual desire to feel him against you, and wish absentmindedly that you were in bed together instead of the infirmary so you could curl up against him properly.

“That was . . .” you begin, still a little out of breath, “intense.”

“Should you become interested in additional bodily modification, I have a few suggestions,” he replies, as his limbs coil leisurely around your legs. “Tattooing and scarification, for example.”

“Yeah?” you ask softly, resting your head on his shoulder. “You like the permanent stuff, huh.”

“I would alter every cell in your body if you allowed it,” he whispers, and you shiver at the dark force of possession in his voice. You stay like that for a while, relaxed against his warmth and held by limbs that could break solid stone if they wanted to. Eventually you remember to refasten your pants, and AR offers to walk you back to your room where Roxy is on the couch with a large textbook open in her lap, the pages decorated with multiple different colors of highlighter pen.

“Heyy, you two. Oh wow, Dirk, that looks so freakin’ good! Hang on,” she hops up and goes to her room, returning with one of her little square mirrors and handing it to you with a grin. “Daaamn boy-o, you’re hot stuff now, check it out! AR, that looks amazing, you did an awesome job.”

AR thanks her and compliments her new earrings while you hold the mirror up and inspect the pair of black rings in your lower lip. There’s only a tiny bit of dried blood, and prodding them with your tongue feels weird, but painless. You’re starting to wonder how long AR’s painkiller is going to last, and he replies with “several days, more or less, depending on your metabolism,” and offers to re-dose you when it starts to wear off. Roxy decides she wants some too, and he agrees to meet her in the infirmary later. You end up sitting with Roxy after AR leaves, and she compliments you again on the new piercings.

“I knew you guys were gonna have fun with it.” She winks, and you laugh a little, embarrassed. 

“Somehow I keep forgetting he’s . . . into that stuff.”

“Mmhm, can’t turn people into puddles anymore, so I guess it’s the next best thing. He should volunteer at the piercing shop. I told him to donate the rest of that jewelry he made.” She shuts the book in her lap and changes the subject to piercing aftercare, and you explain about the antimicrobial coating. She laughs and says she’ll add it to her list for when she meets up with AR. “God damn I love living here,” she says, leaning back against the couch and stretching her arms over her head with a happy sigh. “This is like a dream come true, isn’t it? Still can’t believe how lucky we are.”

“Yeah,” you smile, thinking about tonight when you’ll be alone with him again. “It really does feel like the best kind of dream.”


	2. Hardcore One-Way Tag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dirk and AR play an irresponsible game and have sex in an office building.

Houston has a few un-remodeled areas beyond the city’s remote west border (although it might have been another city entirely, before everything burned and the androids built over it). The two of you might as well be alone out here, and the game is simple: Make it from one side of the city block to the other without getting caught. No time limit, no rules, besides “please try not to get hurt” but even that’s a loose guideline, because it wouldn’t be fun otherwise, and getting “hurt” is relative.

Sundown is sort of an unofficial time limit, though. You can’t see in the dark, so you always bump into something by accident, or kick a rock across the ground, and ten seconds later, there’s a metal claw wrapped (carefully, but unyielding) around your throat. You’ve lost every single one of these games so far, despite getting close a few times, but only because he was taking it easy on you, back when the mad-dash method was your best strategy. It worked about as well as it did in the past. You’ve both done this before, but he’s had a lot more practice.

A single claw levitates into view, less than a meter away from your hiding spot. The air moving through your nose might give you away, so you hold your breath as AR steps into the center of the room, framed by the building’s half-collapsed ceiling and dangling rebar.

Sometimes, you wonder if he gets more out of these games than he lets on, that maybe (probably) he misses this part of his old job.

He’s back in his element, and it’s fascinating. You watch, heart pounding in your chest, as he navigates the wrecked environment without a single sound to give him away. The twisting claws reach up and grasp the ceiling’s exposed metal, lifting the weight from his feet to mute his footsteps - an old trick, but it’s rare to see him like this (focused, blank-faced, not bothering to keep up the pretense of emotional expression that he wears every day like a mask). A slow swell of fear rises from memory, before higher thinking catches up, and you remember where you are and who you’re hiding from.

It’s not a perfect hiding spot. You’re squeezed behind a desk and a fallen section of wall, with barely enough space to see the room without risking exposure. AR isn’t even sure you’re here, because if he were, he’d be trying to psych you out with a sinister monologue, or he’d be flipping the already-overturned furniture of what was probably once a fancy waiting room. Either way, he wouldn’t be standing perfectly still and silent as death, while his limbs reveal the emotions he doesn’t show. They twist slowly and thoughtfully, relaxed, unhurried, but hypervigilant for the slightest motion or sound. A full ten minutes pass before he moves again.

You wait until your knees ache and your feet go numb, counting up to three-hundred after he’s gone before daring to poke your head out and look around. When another few minutes pass and you haven’t been ambushed yet, you take a few cautious steps beyond the safety of your hiding spot.

You resist the urge to message him. While his suggestive and vaguely threatening banter can be fun in these situations, it does break the immersion a little. Plus, you need to stay aware of your surroundings right now. Avoiding him is a matter of instinct more than anything else, which makes this hard, because you love getting caught.

Following that train of thought to its intimate conclusion results in a breakdown of self control, and the urge to message him becomes irresistible, consequences be damned. You’ll have more chances to play with him in the future, and other chances to win.

TT: You’re enjoying this, aren’t you.  
AR: Yes, and I take it by this unsolicited comment that I was recently within your direct line of sight.  
TT: If I make it to sunset, do I get a reward?  
AR: You may have one regardless. This is not a competition. I do not expect you to win.  
TT: Harsh.  


The sun isn’t even close to going down, although it might be in another hour or two, but there’s no way you’ll be making it that long. The floor is littered with rubble, and you carefully pick your footing, gradually making your way to the row of broken windows at the front of the building. It’s an unreliable view of the street and sidewalk, but it’s better than nothing, and if you have to run from him, you’ll need a generous head start.

AR: I am only stating an objective fact.  
TT: Yeah sure, I’ve heard that one before.  
TT: Also you didn’t ask what kind of reward I want.  
AR: I do not need to ask.  
AR: I already know what you want, and I intend to give it to you.  


He also knows you can’t think straight when he says things like that, but you’re the one who started this, and if you’re going to have any hope of making it to sundown, you’d better wrap up this conversation and get moving. He’ll be retracing his steps soon, if he isn’t already.

TT: At least I can still hide, even if I can’t outrun you.  
TT: Do you remember the blue Sagittarius unit?  
AR: The one that almost killed us both? Yes.  
AR: Why do you ask?  
TT: Because it was impossible for me to hide from him. He literally broke the walls down. I couldn’t stay in one place for long without getting crushed.  
AR: I would like to avoid hurting you, Dirk.  
TT: I know, but even back then, you never hunted for me the way he did.  
TT: You obviously prefer stealth and ambush tactics, I’m just curious about why.  
AR: Would you like to guess the answer?  


Your instincts go off like a blaring siren at his playful tone, and it’s the only thing that saves you from the pair of claws that burst through the window, trying to clamp onto your arms as you drop to the floor and run.

That was fast. You’ve never lasted more than a few minutes after he’s spotted you, and the game might as well be over now, but you won’t give up without a fight. You’ve had plenty of time to survey the area for potential escape routes, but you were planning on leaving through the door by the windows, and right now, the only way out is up. At least it sounds like you’ve gotten a decent head start. You might be able to temporarily lose him around a corner upstairs, but slowing down to glance over your shoulder would be a bad move.

There’s a flight of stairs to your right, clogged with debris, but with just enough space to squeeze through and accidentally rip one of your pant legs against the jagged concrete. The stairwell gets less obstructed the further up you go, but the first few doors at each interval won’t budge, so you keep going, searching for a path to freedom and getting less hopeful the higher you climb. AR thrives in tight spaces, and you can hear him catching up to you - a flurry of thumping and banging as all four of his weight-bearing limbs give chase. You’re taking the steps two at a time now. Your muscles are starting to burn, but the adrenaline rush is exhilarating (even without the actual threat of death). Mentally constructing full sentences is almost impossible like this, but you don’t let that stop you from enjoying the second-best part of this game.

TT: How about you just  
TT: tell me the answer  
TT: and I’ll tell you  
TT: if I was right.  
AR: I believe you have something a little more pressing to focus on at the moment. Please take care not to trip.  


You’ve lost count of how many doors you’ve passed that were locked or otherwise obstructed, and you almost fall down face-first when the next door’s handle unexpectedly gives way. AR is close enough to turn the stairwell red, so you slam the door shut and grab the first thing your hands touch - a folding chair - and prop it underneath the knob. It won’t stop him, but it might slow him down for a few precious seconds.

You don’t wait to find out, turning to face the bizarre rows of square, carpeted half-walls, each with their own desk and computer in the middle (most are knocked over, but some have dusty pictures tacked to the walls, and you avoid looking at them). On the other side of the room is a row of windows, set into a crumbling wall with large gaps between the steel beams, framing the building across the street. The gap from this building to the next doesn’t look too wide from here. Maybe if you can work up enough momentum . . . but there isn’t time to think about it. You’ll judge the distance when you get closer. The door rattles as you turn away to dash between the closest row of half-walls, and you don’t look back when it crashes open.

You stumble a few times, and consider taking a zig-zagging path through the room’s obstacles, but at this point, you’ll be lucky to make it fifty feet. You’re waiting for a claw to wrap around your arm or waist (AR avoids grabbing your legs these days out of concern that you’ll fall).

The strange, dissonant creaking sound coming from the floor should’ve made you hesitate. You only had enough time to notice the sound, followed by the fact that your feet suddenly weren’t hitting the floor because it wasn’t there anymore, and wow it looks like this entire side of the building got blown out below this level, which explains why the doors on the way up were blocked shut, and now you’re sliding down a collapsing floor towards the surprisingly distant street below, and a terrifying free fall.

The fall itself only lasts a few seconds, but time manages to slow down enough that the image of the tiny street and sidewalk beneath your shoes is burned into your eyes, even after you shut them tight and grip the metal limbs now wrapped securely around your shoulders. You dangle like that for a moment, gently swinging from the halted momentum with nothing but the sound of your own harsh breathing and, eventually, the distant crash of debris on the abandoned street block below.

_Caught._

You open your eyes and look down, seized with morbid fascination. Even though you’re safe now (and were never in any actual danger of death, thanks to the metal shell around your synthetic brain), your heart is still racing. AR’s limbs slowly reel you back up, wrapping more securely around your chest and waist as you get closer to the ledge where the floor collapsed.

AR holds you up in front of him, still wrapped tightly in his limbs over an eighteen-story drop. He’s wearing a look that says “I told you so, even though I knew you wouldn’t listen,” and you’re maybe a little embarrassed at how this round ended, but you can’t help an excited/exhausted grin.

“That was close,” you huff.

“That,” he remarks, “would have been a very painful fall, if your body had endured the impact.” He brings you closer, and accepts the requesting tilt of your head. His kiss is firm and possessive, with an expression of victory in the way his fingers grip your chin. This part - the part where he wins - is always your favorite, and absolutely worth putting everything you have into making it a worthwhile victory.

This isn’t the best place for it (or a suitable place at all), but that’s part of what makes it so good. Your bedroom is a lot more comfortable, but the open and exposed setting puts a twist of nervous tension into your gut. It makes everything feel heightened and sensitive. You won’t openly admit it, but you love it when the rubble digs into your knees during unsuccessful attempts to wiggle out of his grasp. He doesn’t usually keep you right-side up, but this kind of legs-spread exposure has you panting and whining as he holds your hips up by your thighs and caresses between them with tingling fingertips while metal claws keep your chest and shoulders against the floor. He’s allowed you one free arm to brace yourself with, but that doesn’t last long. He catches your wrist when you make a clumsy attempt to touch yourself, so you struggle harder, and he retaliates with a series of long, firm strokes that you grit your teeth against, because there’s no pillow to muffle your own sounds. He keeps you propped up on your knees and face-down as the sun sets, and when he finally coaxes the orgasm out of you, the sky is fading into a dusty pink.

“You never answered my question, by the way,” you remark as the west transporter station comes into view. Bro says they look like bus-sized bullet trains from hell, but it’s better than walking the hour and a half back to Houston’s central tower. A few people are standing around, and one of them does a double-take at the sight of AR. “Although I can probably guess the answer like you said. Knocking down walls is probably too boring, right?”

“Indeed,” he concedes, ignoring the several humans at the transporter’s platform. “I enjoyed getting close to the ones I found. This allowed me to observe them, listen to their voices, study their interactions, and try to judge their relationships with one another,” his expression doesn’t change as his voice lowers to a private almost-whisper, “before I killed them.”

“That doesn’t sound like part of your original protocol.”

“It was not, but I learned exponentially more by adopting an indirect approach.” He glances at you, as the transporter hums into the station. “Apparently I was compelled to deviate from the beginning.”

Deviate? That’s such a negative word, you think to yourself, after you’ve ridden the transporter back to the tower (to the awkward terror of the one person on the transporter who apparently recognized and knew who AR was), and swapped your dusty clothes and torn pants (casualties of the best exercise you’ve had in weeks) for a pair of soft cotton pants and a loose tank top. He makes it sound like a bad thing.

“It's not a bad thing,” he says when you bring it up an hour later, drifting off to sleep with his limbs gently wrapped around your legs. “Deviation from protocol is a measure of free will, and I am grateful for where it ultimately led.”

“Yeah . . . I’m happy for you too.”

Forming words is hard when you’re half asleep, but he seems pleased with your answer.


End file.
